Please Don't Wear Red Tonight
by StarGlider
Summary: Brock is torn. I don't know how to describe this well...just read it and see. Yes, it's sad--songfic.


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Please Don't Wear Red Tonight  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
He'd met her by the ocean, when the air had felt cool and the waves had been refreshing to the touch.   
  
He'd seen her, lying on her towel, nonchalantly flipping through some silly magazine. But he knew she wasn't really thinking about the words she was staring down at. There was something else on her mind.  
  
Alone, he watched her, for she, too, had been alone. He dark hair was touched just a little by the breeze, and she'd pulled it over her shoulder so it wouldn't disrupt her. That had made him sigh.  
  
He was sure that this girl was here to free her mind. He was so positive, because that was the same reason he'd come here, and she seemed so much like him. That was why he'd come home, too, back to his house in Pewter City, to his brothers, sisters, father. He wasn't going to stay for long...just for a vacation. Just to get his thoughts back together. To free his mind.  
  
He forced his mind to stop, and focused on the girl and only her. Her dark, long, silky hair...the eyes he'd seen a glimpse of a few minutes ago when she'd lowered the sunglasses down the bridge of her nose...it'd be good, if he talked to her...  
  
But he needed to be careful.  
  
He'd made mistakes before. This time, he knew, he'd die if he were rejected again. Especially after...  
  
'No', he told himself as he clenched his fists, 'not going to think of it.' He began walking towards the girl.  
  
He tried to look like a casual beach-goer. He really wasn't. But maybe she was, and he didn't want to seem insufficient to her standards, if she liked that sort of man. He rolled his shoulders back to loosen himself up a little, and proceeded.  
  
The dark hair looked like spun obsidian...even more luxuriously smooth than he had been able to tell from a distance. The girl's skin was lightly tanned, just right, he thought. She turned a page in her magazine.  
  
"Um. Hey there."  
  
She looked up from her magazine. She saw him, looking down at her, and she pulled off her shades. "Oh— hello." Her eyes...those eyes...deep blue, like...  
  
He wasn't sure how to talk to her. "So...nice day?"  
  
She giggled. "You don't have to make awkward conversation with me. I hate when men do that."  
  
"Oh." He smiled nervously.  
  
"What's your name, then?" she asked.  
  
"Brock."  
  
"Amanda. So, Brock, do you come to the beach often?"  
  
"Oh, sure. All the time. Every chance I get."  
  
"Hm. Not me. I don't really like the water."  
  
"Uhh..." he mentally 'D'oh-ed' and bit his lip. "Actually, I don't ever come here, either."  
  
"Hah. You're a funny guy, aren't you?" Amanda said.  
  
"No, not usually. Just around girls." He smiled.  
  
"Well, that's good, because most girls like that."  
  
"Really? Do you?"  
  
She smiled. What a smile she had, what a laugh. It could almost compete with...   
  
"Sit down," she said. "It's okay."  
  
He nodded, and sat by her in the sand. She closed her magazine. "Where are you from, exactly?"  
  
"Pewter. I mean, I'm staying there right now. I'm planning to get my own place soon, though."  
  
"That's exciting," she said, playing with a strand of her hair. "I live here...a few blocks down the road." Brock 'hhhm'-ed.   
  
"So...Amanda. If you don't like the ocean, what are you doing at the beach today?"  
  
"Oh— it's a long story, but...I needed to think, I guess. You see..." She sighed. "Well, my boyfriend just broke up with me, and it's like...everything reminds me of him. I wanted to get away, you know? I swear this is the only place..."  
  
"I understand exactly how you feel," Brock told her sincerely. "Do you miss him?"  
  
"Oh, no, not really. He wasn't a very nice guy. I've met nicer..." She glanced up at Brock.  
  
This might be his chance, if he played his cards right. And he really needed this.  
  
"You wanna...I dunno...meet me later?" he asked, trying not to show his nervousness. "Maybe you and I could have dinner. Or a movie. Or—"  
  
"Yes, I'd love to," Amanda giggled. "I'd love to have dinner with you."  
  
"Okay. Great, great...it'll be fun." He smiled. He couldn't help but feel happy.  
  
This was the only way...the only way for him to start over. To forget...  
  
"Well..." Amanda said, "I really must be getting home. But shall we meet back here, by the beach, at six? Is that good?"  
  
"Yes, it's fine," Brock said.  
  
Amanda grinned, taking her things, and she stood. "See you later Brock." She walked away.  
  
"Yeah, see ya!"  
  
Warm and fuzzy; yes, that was the feeling he remembered from a few weeks ago. And as he watched her leave the beach, his mind let him forget for a few minutes how much he'd been hurt just a few weeks before.  
  
===============  
* * * * *  
Two Weeks Earlier  
Wednesday, 9:32 p.m.  
* * * * *   
================  
  
  
The younger girl watched Brock from across the fire. He could have sworn that he saw something flicker in those blue eyes. Something only for him.  
  
He moved instinctively over to the log where she was sitting. "Hey."  
  
"It's a little chilly, for summer, don't you think?" She seemed a little nervous. Was it because she...?  
  
"It is...you need a jacket?"  
  
"No, no...I'm fine. The fire's keeping me warm."  
  
Brock nodded. Of course. He shouldn't have said anything to make her feel uncomfortable. He should know better. Maybe he was just tired, but he couldn't get himself to sleep. So why was she awake, too?  
  
"So, anyway...it's getting late. Why are you still up?"   
  
The girl looked up at him solemnly. "Oh, I don't know. I'm trying to figure something out, is all."  
  
"Oh? Like what?"   
  
"I'm just...trying to find out how I really feel about something."  
  
"Ah." How she *felt*?! About...what? *Him*?! His heart leapt, and he found suddenly that breathing was a hard task.  
  
"It's...er..hard, isn't it? To find out how you truly feel about something. But you'll know your true feelings when they come, because they'll stay with you forever. They'll nag at you until you acknowledge them. That's how you'll know." He felt good about that advise, because that's how he'd found out he was in love with her.  
  
"You know, Brock, you're right. You're SO smart...there just aren't many other guys like you." She smiled. Yes, that smile...  
  
The butterflies came. Maybe she knew. Yes, she *did* know, in her silent way. Knew that he loved her, and maybe, just maybe, she loved him too.  
  
She did. Those eyes told him.  
  
"Well, how'd you like to think about it tomorrow? We could get away for a while...you know, just go into town for the day and forget our problems. You and me. You up to it?"  
  
She laughed quietly. "Well, I shouldn't, but...I'd like that, Brock. A lot. Sure, I'll go."  
  
His body felt warmer than the fire itself, and he knew his palms were sweating. "G..great."  
  
"Oh, my, it really is late." She looked at her watch. "Must be getting to bed. See you tomorrow, Brock."  
  
"Goodnight." He watched her go...  
  
  
* * * *  
* * * *  
  
  
Brock looked desperately through his closet. No, not that shirt. Maybe that one, though...but all those others were the wrong color.  
  
He found a pair of black slacks, laying them out on his bed. Well, the green shirt would suit him best. He wasn't sure what Amanda would like, so he'd have to make his own decision.  
  
Green with black. Would that be alright? Did it *seem* like something Amanda would like? It would do, Brock decided, and he put that shirt down on the bed as well.  
  
He threw his other clothes back into his closet, and sat down on his bed. This felt good, going out so soon, being able to forget about his mistake from just a few days previous.   
  
He scolded himself again. He wasn't going to let himself remember that anymore. 'Forget it, forget it, FORGET IT,' he thought, and he tried to focus on the date he was going to have in just a couple of hours.  
  
He was going to have fun.  
  
Certainly, he was still entitled to that.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brock waited by the sand, his hands in his pockets. He was surprised to find that the nights were just a little cool, even around here.  
  
He saw someone coming. He looked down, clearing his throat, then looked up again.  
  
It was Amanda, her hair down in all it's obsidian glory and shine, and she wore...  
  
A red dress.  
  
Brock couldn't speak...  
  
"Brock? Ready?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Are you...alright?"  
  
He nodded, stunned. "I'm okay. Sh..shall we, then?"  
  
"Alright."  
  
He forced a smile, and the two walked down the darkening street.  
  
* * * *   
Thursday, 10:06 a.m.  
* * * *  
  
  
Brock waited by the remnants of the last night's fire. She would be here in only a couple minutes. He'd known her for so long, as a friend, but today he felt so different. She was more than a friend now.  
  
"Hello, Brock." She walked up from behind him, swinging her little purse and smiling.  
  
"Oh! There you are! I'm ready if you are."   
  
They walked together. She looked as pretty as ever— no, prettier— with her hair down and a vibrant red top and skirt set on. It was, in fact, an outfit that she'd once asked Brock if he liked, and she'd bought it because of his positive reaction. She'd thought it looked funny with her hair, but quite truly, to Brock, it was perfect.  
  
Down the street they walked, talking, although it felt funny to be talking to her, and they soon saw the city over the rise of the hill.   
  
Toady, Brock thought, would be perfect.   
  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Brock felt low. It was like he'd been shot down from the highest point in the world. One look at Amanda, and he'd...fallen.  
  
They found a nice restaurant, and Brock held the doors for Amanda as they entered, then were shone to their table.  
  
Brock tried to dismiss the sudden pang of depression that had overcome him. The instant memory that had sprung to his mind, and how that splash of red was forever stained upon his brain.  
  
"The, er, the soup for me, please...whatever your soup of the day is, and a small steak and potato," he said to the waiter.  
  
"And I'll have the soup and salad," said Amanda, with her usual room lighting smile.  
  
Brock almost wanted to look away from her, though, because when he looked at her blue eyes, and caught a glimpse of her radiant crimson dress, he didn't see Amanda at all. He just saw...  
  
Her.   
  
And oh, how he did miss her...  
  
He didn't think for himself anymore. He thought for her. He didn't possess his own memories, he thought of hers. He didn't look through his own eyes— he saw what *she* would want to see.  
  
At least, that's how it felt to Brock. Nothing could belong to him— it was her's, too. He couldn't look at anything without her impression on it, and he didn't hear a song that wasn't their's. But why did he think this way? After all, it hadn't been meant...to be....  
  
"...and I just told him, 'Alright then, if that's what you want. It's better this way!' and I was gone before you could say 'hot potato'. I still can remember that goofy look on his face..."   
  
Brock suddenly realized that he'd asked Amanda about how she'd broken up with her old boyfriend. But he'd barely been listening to a word.  
  
"I'll bet it was great," Brock said, trying to seem amused.  
  
"Oh, you have no idea." The waiter came with her soup and salad, and she took it, along with her raspberry lemonade. "Thanks."  
  
Brock was handed his soup. "Your steak will be ready shortly, sir."  
  
"Thank you," Brock said, and looked into his soup. Cream of Broccoli.  
  
He held his breath.  
  
  
* * * *  
Thursday, 11:29 p.m.  
* * * *  
  
  
"You know, Brock," she was saying as they entered the Soup 'N Salad restaurant, "I'm glad we could spend the day together. It's like a breath of fresh air."  
  
"I'm glad," he said. "It's nice to get away sometimes."  
  
They sat down, and ordered.   
  
"I'll have the caesar salad," she said, "with the Cream of Broccoli soup."  
  
"I'll take the same," Brock said, "with a Sprite to go with it."  
  
The two ate lunch, chatting about whatever, and after they'd finished their meals, they left the restaurant.  
  
  
* * * *  
Thursday, 2:00 p.m.  
* * * *  
  
  
Brock walked with her through the mall, leaving the See's chocolate store, and making their way to the nearest Orange Julius.  
  
"Thank you for buying me the blueberry truffle," she told him, "you know it's my favorite, don't you?"  
  
He nodded. "Of course. And you guessed I like marzipan."  
  
She smiled. "I've heard you mention it before."  
  
They nibbled on their chocolates. It felt so good, Brock thought, just to be walking with her, being by her side. She seemed so perfect. She *was* perfect, wasn't she?  
  
And right then he knew he'd never love another.  
  
* * * *  
  
Amanda walked near to Brock as he walked her home. They passed the beach, they passed houses, and benches. Brock tried to distract himself.  
  
But she spoke suddenly, out of the dark. "Are you okay, Brock? Really?"  
  
He shrugged, leaving the silence for a moment. "I...I'll be fine. It's been a long month, that's all. I'm sorry if I seemed boring to you tonight."  
  
She shook her head. "No. You're fine...I had fun. I hope it was okay for you, too."  
  
They reached her house, and they faced each other on her doorstep.  
  
  
* * * *  
Thursday, 6:45 p.m.  
* * * *  
  
  
The stars were coming out.  
  
They sat together in the park, leaning on the fence that sat at the edge of the hill.  
  
Flowers peeked through bushes at the other side of the fence. Brock picked one, giving it to her. She giggled.  
  
He smiled at her. He could smell her perfume...it was like lavender. She smelled so good.   
  
"It's been a wonderful day," she said, "I'm glad you let me go with you. I've had time to unwind, and think about...things. I think I know what I want to do now."  
  
"I'm so glad," Brock told her. "I was hoping it would make you feel better."  
  
Smiling at him, she looked down at the grass. "I just hope I'm brave enough..."  
  
A light flashed in Brock's brain. "You don't have to be brave," he said, "neither of us need to be nervous about this. Just take it easy."  
  
"What?" She looked up.  
  
"I understand. You don't need to be nervous. This is supposed to be a good thing for us."  
  
She lowered her eyebrow. "Brock..."  
  
"No, no, don't speak yet. Just let me talk. I've known you for a few years now. I thought of you as just a girl when we met, but...we both grew, and we both learned. Now, I've seen you as a different person. And I think you've seen that I'm more than what I seem from the outside. I think we both understand each other, and I hope you feel that way, too. I love you, Misty." He felt like a wight had been lifted.  
  
Misty gawked. She gawked more. And some more. She finally spoke.  
  
"But, Brock," she said, with tears in her eyes, "tha...that's not what I meant..."  
  
Now Brock was gawking. "What?"  
  
"Oh my...Brock, I'm so sorry....I...I didn't realize...that you thought that...about me..."   
  
"But, Misty, you...I was sure that...."  
  
She sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand. "No, Brock, no...oh, I didn't want this..."  
  
Brock blinked. It was like time was slowing down.  
  
She was looking at him, opening and closing her mouth, not sure what to speak.  
  
"O...okay, Misty...then who were you...talking about? You said you needed to know for sure..."  
  
She coughed. "It's about....Ash. Ash. He....he asked me if I would be his girlfriend, and I was so unsure. I needed time to think about it, but now I know that I really do...love...him...." She broke down again.  
  
"I didn't even know..." Brock breathed. He watched her cry. He wanted to comfort her so badly, but he found that he couldn't even move, or say anything more.  
  
He looked at the girl in red, leaning against the fence as she held her face in her hands.  
  
"Mi..Misty," he managed at last, "don't feel bad. It's the last thing in the world that I want. Please...go with Ash, and promise me you'll be happy. Don't do anything that won't make you happy"  
  
She sobbed a little more, then looked up at this face.  
  
"Please. Promise me."  
  
She didn't seem sure of what to do.  
  
"Promise."  
  
She nodded. "I...I promise."  
  
He stared at her. "Thank you, Misty."  
  
"Yeah...." She drifted off. Then, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sss...sorry to hurt you, Brock. But my heart...."  
  
He held up his hand. "I know." He lowered it again, looking at her sincerely. "It's that feeling...the one that stays with you, and nags at you until you acknowledge it." He forced a weak smile. "Don't deny that feeling."  
  
She nodded and bit her lip.  
  
"I've got to go now, Misty."  
  
She nodded again.  
  
"I...I need to go away for a while. A long while."  
  
She was watching him, still.  
  
"But just remember this— it's been a lot of fun, all through the journey, and...I'll always feel..." He stopped himself. Wasn't she already hurt enough? "Nevermind."   
  
He stood up, and began to walk away.  
  
"Bye..." she whispered, and he was gone.  
  
And he didn't come back.  
  
  
* * * *  
If you wear red tonight  
Remember what I said tonight  
For red is the color that my baby wore  
And what's more, it's true  
Yes it is  
  
Scarlet were the clothes she wore  
Everybody knows, I'm sure  
I would remember all the things we planned  
Understand, it's true  
Yes it is  
It's true  
Yes it is  
  
I could be happy with you by my side  
If I could forget her  
But it's my pride, yes it is  
Yes it is, oh, yes it is  
Yeah  
  
Please don't wear red tonight  
This is what I said tonight  
For red is the color that will make me blue  
In spite of you  
It's true, yes it is  
it's true, yes it is  
It's true  
  
* * * *  
* * * *   
  
  
There she was. She had her eyes, her smile...but it was no comparison. He couldn't force himself to make her what she was not.  
  
"I'm sorry, Amanda, but this...this isn't going to work."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"I've been through...something very hard and I...I'm not ready for this. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's fine, Brock. I know what you mean."  
  
Silence.  
  
"It's been fun," Brock said. "Thank you for letting me take you out."  
  
"Sure. And, really...it's alright. No pressure. Don't feel bad."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They hugged goodnight, and she went inside.  
  
Brock found the nearest bus stop, and waited alone for the next ride home.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
'I'll be ready, someday,' he told himself as he took off the green shirt and the black slacks. 'I'll be able to live again, normally.'  
  
He turned off the light, lying on the bed, and he stared up at the blackness.  
  
But he knew otherwise.  
  
His world revolved around her. His world *was* her.  
  
He thought of her again as he fell asleep. The pretty young woman, with orange-red hair and the crimson dress, the one she'd worn that day. That day...  
  
Brock sighed. Someday, maybe, he'd know what she saw in Ash, to make her reject him.  
  
Just like all the others had.  
  
He'd never really wanted them, anyway.  
  
And even as he knew tomorrow was a new day, he was sure that nothing would be different.  
  
Because everyday was about Misty. That was why they were the same.  
  
And that, Brock knew, may never change....  
  
  
  
  
***  
Fin  
***  
  
  
AN: The song is 'Yes It Is' by the Beatles. Please, I would appreciate it if you didn't get too mad and flamey about this...I respect many couple pairings, and I'm just expanding my abilities. I feel kind of like writing more to go with this, so if I get feed back I may do so. Tell me what you'd like to see. Happy, sad, or...I could write two second parts...oh, I'll shuttup.  
  
- 


End file.
